


All These Little Moments Have Led to This

by benjji2795



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fic that spans a long period of time, M/M, Slow Burn, from 2009-2018 actually, more characters and ships to be added when they're introduced in the text, snapshots in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjji2795/pseuds/benjji2795
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kent Parson meets Alexei Mashkov, Kent is at one of his lowest points.  But what starts as a chance meeting in a bathroom at the draft eventually grows into something much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June 26, 2009

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been working on this fic for quite a while…and before you say that this is super short how have you been working on this for a long time, I’m doing this as a multichapter fic simply because the format fits that better. I have the next couple chapters already written, I just have to revise them (while I simultaneous work on the last couple chapters). This fic is eventually going to cover a lot —the endgame ship is Patater, but there will be references to past Jack/Kent, and heavy involvement from Zimbits in the events of the fic. It will be ten chapters, and I hope to post them all in fairly quick succession. I hope y’all will come along for the ride :)

Kent Parson is the number one overall pick of the NHL Entry Draft.  The Aces spend less than a minute on the clock before their pick comes in.  Gary Bettman walks out on the stage and says: _“With the first pick in the 2009 NHL Entry Draft, the Las Vegas Aces select—Kent Parson.”_

 

Kent is ushered on from backstage by the stage manager, and meets the Aces upper management in the center of the stage.  They drape a jersey over his shoulders and shake his hand before directing him to look out into the auditorium.  “Smile,” the Aces GM whispers in his ear.  Kent tries—he doesn’t know whether he hits the mark, but whatever face he pulled, it’s immortalized forever.

 

This is supposed to be the happiest moment in his life.

 

The second Kent is out of the public eye, out of view of the television cameras, out of view of the other players anxiously waiting to see if they’ll be picked, out of view of the NHL staff manning the event, the smile fades from his face.

 

He runs.  He tears off his jersey.  He sheds his jacket.  He loosens his tie.  He can’t breathe.  His clothes are too tight, his body is too warm.  He claws at the buttons on the sleeves of his shirt, undoing them and sloppily rolling his sleeves up.

 

Kent bursts into a bathroom somewhere deep in the First Niagara Center.  He immediately heads to the sink, twisting the knob to cold water.  He cups his hands under the flow, splashing the water onto his face until he doesn’t feel like he’s dying.  He flattens his palms on the cheap, imitation-marble countertop, using his arms to support his weight, since his knees feel far too weak to hold himself up.  He breathes shakily, futilely attempting to suck in air and calm down.

 

The bathroom is deathly quiet.  Kent’s head is not.  His ears are filled with a dull roar, the constant bleating of his mind:

 

_This is wrong this is wrong **this is wrong**.  It’s not supposed to be you!  You shouldn’t have gone first!  Jack should’ve gone first!  But Jack is…_

 

Kent digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.  Fuck.  He can’t go there right now.  He’s supposed to be getting a grip so he can rejoin the other players for the rest of the draft, instead of causing himself to break down again.

 

The door to the bathroom swings open and heavy footsteps of a large man pound against the white and black floor tile. Kent inhales weakly, lifting his head to glance at himself in the mirror.

 

He looks like shit, and that might be putting it mildly.  He hasn’t slept more than two or three hours in the last four days, his attempts always interrupted by ghastly images of Jack, deathly pale, chest barely moving as he lays on cold tile.  As such, there are deep, dark purple circles under his eyes.  His cheeks are also splotched with bright red spots.  He hasn’t cried yet today, which is about the longest he’s gone since Jack…but anyway, given the number of times he’s cried since _it_ happened, he’s not surprised the evidence is still there.

 

“Kent!  Is great day, no?” the new occupant of the bathroom says loudly, in a thick Russian accent.

 

Kent flinches at the overt cheeriness of the man’s tone.  He takes one more deep breath, praying that he doesn’t see through Kent’s unstable façade.

 

When he turns, he meets the eye of the man.  It’s the burly, towering Russian, Alexei, who Kent knows only because he was often mentioned in the conversation for top 5 in the draft, along with Kent, Jack, and a couple of guys from Canada and Sweden.

 

Kent nods slowly in response to his question.  “It’s—y-yeah, it’s uh—it’s great,” he says, stumbling over the simple words.  He’s trying to convince himself it’s great as much as he’s trying to convince Alexei, but he knows he’s not buying it, and Alexei doesn’t seem to either.

 

Alexei is still smiling as he says, “Is very impressive to get pick first!  Must be very happy!” but Kent can see that it’s faded a little.

 

“I’m—”

 

Kent falters as he looks into Alexei’s light rust-colored eyes again, warm, inviting and pleasant.  As the smile completely fades from Alexei’s face, Kent sees the concern in his eyes and he feels his illusion start to crumble.

 

“Do not look very happy,” Alexei says, placing his large, warm hand on Kent’s shoulder.  “Something wrong?”

 

So much has happened the last four days, but never once has someone asked Kent if he was okay.  It was a fruitless question anyway, because Kent _had_ to be okay, or at least act like he was.  Confronted with the question now, Kent tries to give the answer that everyone expects him to give— _no, nothing’s wrong_ —by shaking his head, but he shudders as he exhales, betraying the true answer.

 

“I—” Alexei stops, glancing down at the floor for a long second in hesitation.  “Is not my place but—is about Jack?”

 

Jack has been the lead story in sports news ever since it broke that he was in the hospital.  Their careers in the Juniors were inextricable from each other.  It makes sense that people would connect Kent to Jack’s situation, since so many people are aware of how close they are (were?  Kent doesn’t even know right now).  But no one—besides Jack’s parents—are aware of how close they truly are/were.

 

Kent inhales sharply, his vision blurring at the edges.  He can’t think of Jack without seeing him on the floor of that bathroom.  It brings with it panic and a weight on his chest, heavy and painful, forcing the air out of his lungs like the one time he was seven and got a knee to his gut colliding with a defensemen on the ice.  It hurts worse than that, worse than anything Kent’s every felt before, because he wants Jack to be here with him now, celebrating going 1-2 in the draft.

 

Instead he’s here with Alexei, a Russian that he’s never met before, and has only a shaky grasp on the English language.  And Jack is in a hospital somewhere.  All Kent knows is that he isn’t dead.  There’s no information on how badly he’s hurt, if he’s even awake and not in coma, if there was any brain damage, or if he’s ever going to play hockey again.  No one is answering his calls or texts.  Kent is in the dark.

 

Even worse, he’s been alone since spending that first night with Jack in the hospital.  Bad Bob had told him to head to New York.

 

“You can’t miss your chance because of Jack.  He wouldn’t want you to do that.”

 

Kent had tried to protest, but Bob had pushed him out of the hospital.  By the time he was forced into a waiting car, Kent was pretty sure that Bob was seconds away from picking him up and carrying him out.  The car took him to the airport.  Kent flew to Buffalo, got a taxi to his hotel, and secluded himself in there.

 

Kent really doesn’t want to cry, not here.  He’s been holding it together so well today.  But there’s no denying that he’s so fucking fragile.  Even when he hasn’t been a crying mess, he’s been right on the edge, ready to fall apart at the drop of a hat.

 

Kent hunches in on himself as a sob is ripped from his throat.  He tries to back away from Alexei, hopefully to make his way into a stall.  This isn’t Alexei’s mess to deal with.  But he has other intentions, reaching out and drawing Kent with his long, gangly arms.

 

“Shhh,” Alexei whispers.  “Is going to be okay.”

 

Alexei, a stranger, envelopes him in a warm, tight embrace, somehow giving Kent the loving support he’s needed for the last four days.  Kent buries his face in Alexei’s chest as his hand slowly runs up and down Kent’s back, massaging it comfortingly.  Kent cries harder because, for the first time since Jack overdosed, he doesn’t feel like his whole world is crashing down around him.

 

Kent doesn’t know how long he sobs into Alexei’s shirt, but when he finally stops, even though he feels completely spent, he also feels more okay than he has since he found Jack sprawled out on that bathroom floor.

 

Kent pulls away and looks up sheepishly at Alexei, noticing for the first time that he has Kent’s jersey and suit jacket draped over his shoulder.  “I’m sorry to give you all this trouble,” Kent mumbles, wiping the tears off his cheeks with the back of his hand.

 

Alexei smiles softly, giving Kent a pat on the shoulder as the step apart.  “Is not problem.  You will be okay to go out again, yes?”

 

Kent breathes deeply, carefully considering the question.  He feels like he’s going to be okay, at least for a while.  He let out a lot of what had been building up inside him, and even though the ache in his chest is still there, it isn’t as prevalent as before.

 

Kent nods.  “T-thank you,” he says, his voice gravelly and raw from crying so hard.

 

Alexei pulls the suit jacket off his shoulder, offering it to Kent.  “You are welcome.”

 

“Oh, um, one sec,” Kent mutters, awkwardly wrestling with his rolled-up sleeves.

 

“Here, I will help,” Alexei says, draping Kent’s jacket back over his shoulder for a brief moment.  He reaches out and grabs Kent’s unraveled sleeve, messing with the button on the cuff while Kent works on the other sleeve and his collar.

 

When they finish, Kent takes the jacket from Alexei and shoulders it on.

 

“Looking like new now,” Alexei beams, winking slyly at Kent.

 

Kent blushes.  “Thanks,” he says, ducking his head as he shuffles to the door.

 

They both arrive backstage at the same time, and they head to their spots.  Kent gets a few curious glances as he sits back down, but Kent ignores them, watching as Bettman walks out to the podium to announce the next pick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you weren’t already feeling severely emotionally compromised from reading that, [bahoreal](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com) drew [this art](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com/post/148696769951/ive-been-thinking-abt-kent-parson-a-lot-and-its) of this scene and basically destroyed me so yeah, thanks Jay ;)


	2. February 2010

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished revising this chapter this morning, so I have an update two days in a row (what? omg it's been so long since I've managed to do that) :) So, I have no idea how the hockey schedule works out exactly, where February puts teams in their schedule, so I just guessed...I hope it's close enough, or if it's not, just ignore it I guess lol. Hope y'all are ready for more feels!

Kent pauses outside the locker room and leans up against the wall, heaving a long sigh.  It was a hard fought game they just played against the Falconers.  The four expansion teams—the Aces, Aeros, Falconers, and Schooners—all have nasty rivalries with each other.  And with a rivalry game comes all the vicious (and questionably legal) hits traded by both sides.  Kent is already feeling the effects—most of his body feels sore and tender.  They lost, 4-1, so it’s not like he got any payoff from the multitude of bruises he’s going to end up with.

 

Kent is exhausted and there’s still two months of the season left.

 

The Aces record is 17-31-6—in other words, they really suck, and Kent hates it.  He’s in contention to win the Calder, but the last thing he cares about is personal accolades.  He’s here to win, not to be the only decent player on a terrible team.

 

Being on a losing team is bad enough, but Kent also _despises_ Las Vegas—or at least the Las Vegas strip, by which the Aces arena was built. The whole place is too bright, too busy, filled with loud and obnoxious tourists and flashing lights and—it gives Kent a headache when he has to drive by or through.

 

And it’s too fucking hot.  Kent grew up in northern New York, where temperatures rarely break 90°F and there’s a noticeable difference between fall, winter, spring and summer.  Not so in Vegas.  Kent is lucky if he sees a day under 90°F, and it’s hot and dry all year round, the sun perpetually beating down and scorching Kent’s skin when he steps outside.

 

Finally there’s Jack.  Jack hasn’t talked to him since he overdosed.  Kent calls every day—no response.  Kent sends at least 10 texts a day—not a single one of them are read.  He can’t visit the hospital where Jack is staying—he’s too busy, and he doesn’t even know where it is.  Bad Bob talks to him, but only about hockey because apparently Jack wants him to be all alone and in the dark in this god-forsaken desert.

 

Kent wants to be there for Jack as much as he can be, but Jack apparently wants nothing to do with him.  Kent misses Jack like hell, but some days, Kent doesn’t know whether to cry because he misses Jack or throw things because he’s so angry at Jack.  He just wants to hear from Jack—it doesn’t matter what he says, if he spends the whole time screaming at Kent, if he breaks up with him and then hangs up—he just needs _something_ from Jack.

 

Kent rubs at his eyes.  He’s 18.  He’s not really an adult yet.  He wasn’t prepared to be thrust into this situation all alone—in the spotlight, dealing with his best friend/boyfriend nearly dying from an overdose.  Some days it feels like too much, and all he wants to do is get on a plane and fly to New York and crawl into his childhood bed and sleep for a month.

 

“Kent!”

 

Kent startles, his head snapping up at the booming voice.  He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here.  Usually, the facility has mostly cleared out by now.  Kent is almost always the last player—even sometimes person (meaning the Aces coaching staff sometimes gets to leave before he does)—out of the locker room.  He routinely spends thirty minutes being interviewed by reporters because, you know, everyone has to get their own unique soundbite from the Aces’ star first round pick.

 

Kent glances down the hallway, and he can just make out a lanky silhouette (why are all the hallways so dimly lit?).  It’s a familiar enough figure to make Kent’s pulse quicken because if he’s right, then the events of the last time they met is going to make this so awkward.

 

“Kent!” he says, sweeping Kent into his arms, hugging him so tightly that he lifts Kent’s feet off the floor.  “Is so good to see you!”

 

He was right; it’s Alexei.  Kent would recognize that loud, thickly-accented voice anywhere.  But instead of feeling awkward like he expects to, Kent simply feels—calm.  He exhales softly, feeling less tense as Alexei holds him.  No one’s hugged him off the ice since—well, since Alexei did on draft day.  It’s nice to be held.

 

“Yeah, it’s—it’s good to see you too Alexei,” Kent says quietly into Alexei’s shoulder.

 

Alexei gives him a tight squeeze before he sets him back down on the ground.

 

“Call me Tater,” he replies.  “Is what all my teammates be calling me.”

 

Kent’s brow furrows in confusion.  “Oh.  Okay—Tater.  Um…how’d you get that one?  It’s not—I don’t really get the connection.”

 

Tater grins.  “Last name is Mashkov.  So mash—like potato.  See?” Tater explains, chuckling.  “Is funny, right?”

 

Kent shakes his head and rolls his eyes, even as he smiles—hockey players are a very bizarre breed.  “Yeah it’s definitely amusing,” he says.  “I guess if we’re trading nicknames, you can call me Parse.”

 

Tater frowns, scrutinizing Kent for a moment.  “No.  I am liking Kent much better than Parse,” he answers, slinging one of his incredibly long arms around Kent’s shoulder.

 

“Call me whatever you want I guess,” Kent says.  “Except—please don’t call me Kenny.  It just—” Kent stops.  He can’t exactly explain to Tater why.  “Yeah, just please don’t.”

 

“I am liking Kent best,” Tater responds.

 

“Thanks,” Kent mumbles, willing himself not to get emotional just because of the name Jack always used to use.

 

“So,” Tater says, lowering his voice, which up to this point had been an exuberant almost-shout.  “How you be doing?”

 

Kent jolts, looking up at Tater, eyes wide.  Given that Tater hadn’t said anything yet, Kent had assumed that he’d either forgotten about the draft, or wanted to pretend it never happened.  But from the gentle tone of his voice, Kent has no doubt that he’s bringing it up now.

 

He’s shocked.  No one he’s talked to since coming to Vegas has given two shits about how he’s feeling.  It’s always been _How’s your training going?  Have you been strictly following your plan like you’re supposed to?_ or _Parse, get your head in this game!  Stop fucking around, we need your best effort!_   Kent’s chest feels warm and tingly that this man—someone who is still a complete stranger that he’s met once—cares about him enough to ask how he’s doing.

 

“Oh,” Tater says, and Kent belatedly realizes he’s been silent for a long time.  “I do not mean to pry.  Not need to answer if you not want to.”

 

“No it’s—you’re not prying,” Kent says, cheeks flushing.  “I mean, you saw—it’s okay to ask.  I was just—uh, surprised that you remembered—and cared.”

 

“I find Kent crying mess alone in bathroom?  And he think I do not remember or care,” Tater scoffs, spinning Kent so that they’re face to face.  Tater looks him dead in the eye, at once both soft and intense, and Kent feels a little overwhelmed.  “I care about everyone Kent.  People I find crying in bathroom most.”

 

“Thanks for—yeah,” Kent mumbles, and Tater pulls him into his chest again.  “It’s um—it’s still rough but—I’m doing better than I was—you know—that night.”

 

“Good to hear,” Tater says.  “Know that I am always here for you if needed.”

 

“Thanks—I might—maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Kent says, stepping away when Tater releases him to fish his phone out of his pocket.

 

“I be looking forward to it,” Tater says, frowning down at the screen.  “But is team.  Bus be leaving soon.  I must go.”

 

“I understand,” Kent says, feeling extremely disappointed, even though he knows there’s no way Tater could stick around to talk more.  “Find me the next time we play, okay?”

 

“I will do,” Tater says, smile returning to his face.  “Oh, before I go—trainer is doing good work.  He is doing you much good,” he adds with a wink.

 

“Oh!” Kent says, inhaling quickly, his face turning scarlet.  “Uh you—I mean—um—thanks?  And you—yeah, you too.”

 

“You are welcome,” he says smirking.  “And thanks.  I try hard, but I not look as good as you.  Is okay.  We cannot all look like Greek god.”

 

With that, Tater turns and walks away.

 

Kent needs some fresh air, or maybe some cold water.


	3. January 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 3 and 4 are a bit of reprieve from the heavy angst and feels this fic has seen thus far (though on revision, this chapter did get a little bit more...intense than I meant it to), so enjoy it, because the aftermath of Epikegster comes immediately following these two chapters.

Kent’s first season in Vegas is an unmitigated disaster.  Finishing at 29-42-11 and 69 points, the Aces were the second worst team in the league, ahead only of Edmonton, a team which had a record of 27-47-8 and 62 points.  When Kent leaves for New York for the offseason, part of him never wants to come back.  He won the Calder, sure, but toiling as the only good player on a terrible team while living in a city he hates isn’t exactly how he saw his NHL career playing out.

 

Nevertheless when the beginning of September rolls around, Kent is back in Vegas, ready for the Aces’ training camp.  He isn’t alone this time though, because he brings with him a kitten that he’d adopted over the summer (at his mother’s insistence _—“Kenny, I’m sure you’ll be less lonely if you had someone to come home to, even if it’s just a dog or cat or something.”_ ).

 

Camp is brutal, and Kit seems hell-bent on destroying everything in his apartment, but he survives and the season begins.  And the Aces win.  They’re not the NHL’s best team by any stretch of the imagination, but they’re a solid team.  With one game left before the all-star break, the Aces hold the last playoff spot in the Western Conference.  It’s still a long shot, considering their brutal fifteen game closing stretch, but they’re in the conversation and Kent is pleased.

 

Vegas doesn’t seem so bad when they’re winning.  The bright lights aren’t quite as jarring, the heat isn’t quite as oppressive, and—well, Jack still isn’t talking to him, but Kit seems to be filling the void well enough.  He still tries to contact Jack every day, but when Kit is curled up on his chest (or when Kent is chasing her, trying to keep her from breaking yet another glass that he made the mistake of leaving out), he doesn’t feel as devastated when Jack inevitably doesn’t reply.

 

Over in the Eastern Conference, in which Tater and the Falconers play, they’re not doing quite as well.  They’re two places out of a playoff berth, but as it currently stands, the Falconers are having the best season in their short franchise history.  It’s a banner year for both expansion teams.

 

The Aces last game before the break is against the Falconers and it’s a big deal.  As two teams that entered the league at the same time, they’re constantly being compared to each other.  Hockey analysts and fans alike see this game as a litmus test of which team is farthest along.  Who’s the most ready for the playoffs?

 

So Kent is not at all surprised by the question he receives during his post-game interview of their prior game against the Sharks.

 

“The Aces and Falconers are both in the midst of their best seasons in franchise history.  Both teams seem evenly matched.  What do you think gives you the edge in your next game against the Falconers?”

 

Kent quietly mulls over what he knows about the Falconers: a halfway decent goalie, a highly regarded coaching staff—and Tater, who’s so tall, with broad shoulders and thighs like tree trunks, who has the warmest brown eyes Kent’s ever seen and skates with such power and grace and…and…

 

“Alexei Mashkov is a stud,” Kent blurts out, and half the locker rooms falls silent, turning to look at him.

 

That was _not_ what he meant to say, but everyone was looking at him and expecting him to say something and so he just said the only thing he could think of.  His cheeks are burning because—well Tater is a very, very attractive stud, but Kent really shouldn’t be announcing to the world that that’s what he thinks of him.  The world doesn’t need to know that and Tater _definitely_ doesn’t need to know that either.

 

“W-what I meant is uh—” Kent stutters, rushing to backtrack.  “He’s um—he’s a great player, you know?  I think—well, I think he challenged me for the Calder last year.”

 

“Are you saying that you think the Falconers have the edge over you?” the reporter asks, and shit—he got so distracted that he forgot that he had a question to answer.

 

“That’s not what I said exactly,” Kent replies quickly because no way are the Falconers a better team than them.  “I was just pointing out that he’s a great player.  Big, physical, and fast as hell for someone his size.  But the Falconers don’t have anyone else half as good as him.  Up and down our roster, we have players that are far and away more talented and work better together.  The Falconers don’t stand a chance.  Now, I’d like to get home to get some sleep so I think that’s it for questions, thanks.”

 

The reporters scatter, the last ones finally leaving the locker room, and Kent finally can see the multitude of eyes peering at him.

 

“What?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably as he picks at a loose thread on his jersey.

 

“Dude,” Mac (a rookie) says.  “You like, have a huge hockey crush on Mashkov, don’t you?”

 

“I do not,” Kent retorts, feeling his cheeks flush again.  “Go fuck yourself.”

 

“He’s fucking blushing!” Felix, who is the alternate captain and has a locker right next to his, proclaims.  “He so fucking does!”

 

“Shut _up_ , I swear I don’t,” Kent mumbles, ducking his head in his locker so no one can see just how red his face is.  Yes, he has a hockey crush on Tater—and maybe like an actual crush, but he’ll do anything to keep that from these guys.

 

“I mean, dude, I get guys like Crosby or Seguin but fucking Mashkov?  He’s like—average at best,” Mac says, shaking his head.  “He just looks good ‘cause everyone around him is shit.”

 

“He’s like a half foot taller than you and could kick your ass without breaking a sweat,” Kent answers sharply.  “And you’ve never played against him.  You have no idea what kind of player he is.  Mark my fucking words: you’re going to be singing a very different tune after the game.”

 

“Alright man,” Mac says, defensively holding his hands up.  “I didn’t realize you were so protective of this dude—”

 

“Listen to me very carefully,” Kent says, stalking over to Mac.  “You can sing your own praises all you want.  Talk yourself up, say you believe you’re the best player to ever set foot on the ice, whatever.  But _never_ disparage another player.  You don’t know who in this league talks to who, who will repeat what, and let me tell you, this game can be a fucking nightmare when you make enemies.”

 

“Okay man, I’m sorry,” Mac says, eyes wide and looking vaguely frightened.

 

“Yeah, you better be,” Kent replies, walking back over to his locker.

 

When he sits down, Felix puts a hand on his shoulder.  “Your delivery was really fucking scary and probably too much, but you said what needed to be said.  The kid needs to learn to watch his fucking mouth.”

 

“Yeah,” Kent says quietly.  Now if only he could do the same and not say things like _Alexei Mashkov is a stud_.  That way, he wouldn’t end up in situations like this to begin with.

* * *

 

 ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ _I am stud? Is high praise coming from **@kvparson87**! You are definitely stud too ))))_

 

Kent favorites and retweets the tweet, but doesn’t respond.  There’s a blush high on his cheeks as he wonders what the hell Tater was doing watching his post-game interview.

* * *

 

The Aces don’t make the playoffs.  Their closing stretch that included games against the Blackhawks, Red Wings, Penguins, Sharks and the Kings killed their hopes.  They went into the final fifteen games just 3 points back from a playoff spot, but a 3-10-2 finish wiped out any chance, and the Aces finish in 12th place in the Western Conference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I literally just copy and paste the Aces characters from [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7321150)? Why yes, yes I did :)


	4. Spring 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly should've just named this chapter "Chirp Chirp Chirp, Flirt Flirt Flirt" (or as a very tired [bahoreal](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com) suggested, “Twitter was made for chirping”) lmao! Hope y'all enjoy it <3

Having the whole offseason to stew about how their season ended is hard for Kent.  They were almost good enough to get there—they only had to win six games.  But they only mustered half that, and Kent can’t help like feeling he could’ve done more.  A few more goals or assists here or there, at any point in the season could’ve contributed to more wins and decreased the importance of those last fifteen games.

 

The team votes him captain for the next season, before every one parts ways for the summer.  Their last captain retired, and Felix made it clear he didn’t want to be more than an alternate.  Kent doesn’t campaign, doesn’t even dream that he’s in the running.  It’s only his third season, and he’s not the most outgoing person.  But 80% of Kent’s teammates vote for him; the other 20% voted for Felix because either they love him that much, or they hate Kent just as much.

 

So Kent throws himself into his offseason workouts, going harder than he ever has at any point in his career.  He stays in Vegas, working with the coaching staff that lives there, meeting with the team’s trainer five days a week—he has to be at his absolute peak when the season starts.  The guys deserve that (and if all that work keeps him too busy to think about how lonely he is, all the better).

 

As hard as Kent works, so does the Aces upper management.  The Aces have a lot of cap room, with a roster built largely of young guys not too many years removed from the draft (including Kent himself).  They use that money to court several top free-agents, pitching to them that they’re the “last piece of the puzzle”, that the Aces will win big if they sign.

 

The pitch works, and going into the regular season, the Aces have (and not even subjectively) the best roster in franchise history—and even one of the best rosters in the NHL (something that’s little more subjective).

 

The Falconers take a different approach, putting most of their eggs into the draft basket.  They seem to be counting on developing players already on the roster and a number of minor leaguers that experts say are certain to make the roster out of camp.

 

Two different strategies, and Kent finds himself hoping that both work out (and that has nothing to do with Tater, _shut up_ , he just wants to see the other expansion teams do well).

* * *

 

The Aces’ strategy plays out brilliantly.  With all the added talent and a lot of hard work from everyone, the Aces not only play well enough to make the playoffs, they played the season out to a 52-20-10 record, the best record in the NHL which won them the Presidents’ Trophy.  Kent couldn’t be more proud of his team.

 

The Falconers, on the other hand, struggled mightily, only managing a 34-36-12 record.  None of the talented players they were counting on lived up to expectations.  Tater played as well as he could for someone surrounded by developing players.  But Kent suspects this season could pay off in a few years; there’s no substitute for experience, and the young guys got plenty of that.

 

On the last day of the season, when Kent makes it back to his apartment after the game, he collapses on his couch, flipping on ESPN to see the final results—who’s in, who’s out.

 

Kent’s barely sat down when his phone buzzes.  It’s a tweet alert from Tater (he has all his—well, all the people that he knows on notifications; he can hardly call any of them friends).

 

 **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _: congrats to **@kvparson87** and Aces for being in playoffs! is great day! expansion team finally makes playoffs!  wooo!  )))))_

Kent smiles; leave it to Tater to celebrate a rival team making the playoffs (though Kent probably would’ve done the same if the Falconers had made it).

 

But even though they’ve made it (with the NHL’s best record no less), Kent isn’t holding his breath for the Aces to make it very far.  Normally he’d say they’d make it past the first round, but ESPN just announced that the Aces are playing the Chicago Blackhawks in the first round.  Though the Blackhawks disappointed a lot of fans by only squeaking in as the 8th seed, there’s no denying that they’re going to be a dangerous team.  They had won the Stanley Cup only two seasons ago, and a lot of talent from that team is still on the roster.  It’s conceivable that the Aces might not win one game.

 

Kent decides to include this in his tweet reply.

 

 ** _@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _thanks man! I’m so proud of our guys! It’s great to finally make it to the #StanleyCupPlayoffs but we’ve got a tough road ahead! #LVvsCHI #NeverLetUp_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _i am sure it will not be problem! you play great and win! that way we can say we beat stanley cup champions twice! )))))_

Kent rolls his eyes and shakes his head.  Of course he would bring that up.  Somehow, the Falconers swept the season series against the Aces, something Kent still hasn’t managed to find an answer as to how.

 

 ** _@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _let’s not jump the gun…we haven’t won the cup yet.  Besides, we were the better team, you guys just got lucky :)_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _i not call 4-1 wins luck but okay ))_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _details…but mark my words, it won’t happen again next year_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _ooh, you give challenge! worry not, we be ready! but good luck for now! ))))_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _thanks :))))_

Kent locks his phone and picks up the remote, turning the TV off.  It’s late and preparation for the Blackhawks starts tomorrow morning.  He’d love to tweet at Tater more, but he needs to get some rest (but if the last thing he thinks about when he falls asleep are rusty brown eyes, well, that’s simply a coincidence).

* * *

 

When Kent wakes up from his pre-game nap the day of their first game against the Blackhawks, he notices another tweet notification from Tater.

 

 ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _: skate fast_ ** _@kvparson87_** _!_ ** _@NHLBlackhawks_** _don’t stand chance against_ ** _@LVAces_** _!_

Kent chuckles at Tater’s confidence, and wishes he could share it.  He’s watched a lot of tape and the Blackhawks match up well against them.  Their strengths are the Aces weaknesses, and Kent thinks that if they manage to hang close, it might just be a minor miracle.

 

As he’s thinking about how to reply, the Blackhawks twitter vehemently protests to Tater’s assertion that they don’t stand a chance.

 

 ** _@NHLBlackhawks_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** **_@kvparson87_** **_@LVAces_** _strong words from a guy whose team didn’t make the playoffs #StayInYourLane_

 

Kent nearly falls off the bed laughing.  He can’t believe that they just called Tater out like that—though to be fair, players are usually smart enough not to tag the team Twitter in a tweet like that.  He can’t restrain himself from replying:

 

 ** _@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@NHLBlackhawks_** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs**_ **_@LVAces_** _HOLY SHIT THEY JUST DID THAT!!!! YAAAASSSSS!!!!! DRAG HIS ASS!!!!!!_

**_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ **_ @kvparson87 _ ** **_ @NHLBlackhawks_ ** _**@LVAces** _ _(((((((_

**_ @LVAces_** _:_ **_ @NHLBlackhawks _ ** _**@LVAces** **@kvparson87 **_ _don’t be sad, you’re definitely right! We did win the #PresidentsTrophy! :)_

 

Seeing Tater’s sad faces makes Kent a little guilty; he wasn’t trying to be mean, he just thought it was really amusing.  So he responds with some encouragement.

 

 ** _@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@LVAces_** _**@NHLBlackhawks** __don’t worry Tater, the_ ** _@LVAces_** _and I def appreciate you supporting us tonight :D_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** ** _ @LVAces_** _you be able to hear me cheer from providence!_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** **_@LVAces_** _I’ll be listening for it! :)_

**_ @LVAces_** _:_ _ **@kvparson87**_   _ **@tater_mashkov_falcs**_   _we’ll be listening too! We’re always happy to have another fan cheering for us!_

**_ @kvparson87_** _:_ **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs _ ** _also a word of advice, maybe next time, don’t @ the other team lmao_

 

As Kent takes off for the Aces arena, he feels relaxed, the edge having been taken off his nerves by Tater’s minor debacle.

* * *

 

The Aces play fast, loose, and confident, like they’re the playoff veterans instead of the Blackhawks.  They win 3-2, with Kent being responsible for three points (two goals and an assist), and Kent is more than ecstatic that the Aces have won their first playoff game.

 

In fact, when Kent gets home, he tweets this out first thing before he even takes his shoes off.

 

 ** _@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@LVAces_** _won their first playoff game EVER tonight and I’m so happy! Proud as hell of all my teammates! :)_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _tater is proud of you and_ ** _@LVAces_** _too! is another big day for expansion teams! #finally_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** **_@LVAces_** _thanks Tater <3.  Your cheering was vital to our win tonight #YesIDidActuallyHearYou_

**_@LVAces_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** **_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _we did too! #TheBestFan_

**_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ **_ @LVAces _ ** _**@kvparson87**_ _I am glad! I will do same for next game!_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** **_@LVAces_** _I look forward to it :)_

  * _Retweeted by **@LVAces**_



* * *

 

The Aces go onto sweep the Blackhawks, and with every game, every shift, Kent feels the young and playoff-inexperienced players gain confidence, and it’s on display in the final game of round, when the Aces rout the Blackhawks 5-0.

 

The Aces 2nd round opponent are the Detroit Red Wings, a team that, like the Blackhawks, have had a lot of recent playoff experience (having made the Stanley Cup Finals in 2009) and finished with a disappointing record.  But unlike the Blackhawks, the Red Wings roster is aging.  The experience and savvy is still there, but a lot of guys have lost a step.

 

Not that you could tell in the first round.  They won 4 games to 1, only making a misstep in game 3, the first game away from Joe Louis Arena.  They looked much like the team that made the Finals in 2009, and Kent would be lying if he said he was confident they could win.  But then again, he said that prior to the 1st round, so he could be wrong.

 

Again, when he wakes up from his pre-game nap prior to game 1, he’s mentioned in a tweet by Tater.  It’s in response to a tweet by the Aces’ team Twitter.

 

 **_ @LVAces_** _: The Aces return to the ice tonight against the_ **_ @DetroitRedWings _ ** _! Who do you think is going to be game 1 #MVP? #LVvsDET_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@LVAces_** _**@DetroitRedWings** __will be no contest!_ ** _@kvparson87_** _is best player on ice and he will prove! ))))_

**_ @DetroitRedWings_** _:_ **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs _ ** _**@LVAces @kvparson87** _ _uh oh, looks like someone didn’t learn their lesson the first time…do we need to remind you again? #StayInYourLane #Again_

 

Kent grins and exhales.  Of course Tater would forget.  But rather than laugh at him like he did last time, Kent decides to come to his defense.

 

 **_ @kvparson87_** _:_ **_ @DetroitRedWings _ ** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@LVAces** _ _Well I’m sure you know that I *am* the leading #MVPCandidate…and there’s nothing wrong with stating the facts :)_

  * _Retweeted by_ ** _@LVAces_**



**_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ **_ @kvparson87 _ ** **_ @DetroitRedWings_ ** _**@LVAces** _ _yes I just say facts! is nothing wrong with that_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _**@LVAces** __maybe the_ ** _@DetroitRedWings_** _should consider #StayingInTheirLane too :)_

**_ @DetroitRedWings_** _:_ **_ @kvparson87 _ ** **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_ ** _**@LVAces** _ _we’ll just have to wait and see how the game goes… #LVvsDET_

After seeing all these tweets from Tater, Kent decides to check out his twitter.  There’s no way he can only be tweeting him.  With as friendly as Tater is, he must have tons of friends scattered across the league that he would want to encourage too.

 

Prior to the first round, Tater had tweeted Geno and the Penguins:

 

 **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _: **@penguins** **@malkin71_** good luck in playoffs!_

 

And there are a few other tweets here and there but none are quite as emphatic as the tweets at Kent and the Aces, and the vast majority are directed at them too which is—curious, but Kent needs to get going on his pregame routine so he can’t really spend much time pondering over it.

* * *

 

The Red Wings don’t play like a #7 seed, and they certainly don’t play like they’ve lost a step.  They throw everything they have at the Aces, dragging the series out to all seven games, including three games that required overtime.  But they survive and move onto the Conference Finals to play the San Jose Sharks.  The Sharks only needed five games to dispatch their 2nd round opponent, so going into this series, they are certainly fresher than the Aces are.  Kent isn’t sure they’re going to be able to match their energy.

 

Kent is hardly surprised when Tater tweets him before the game.  In fact, he was going to be a little worried if he didn’t (he’s a hockey player, he has his superstitions, okay).  But he’s right on time, tweeting right about when Kent gets up from his nap.

 

 ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** ** _ @LVAces_** _not many games left until cup final! i’m confident that you win and advance! ))))_

And the reply from the Sharks is already in, and Kent rolls his eyes.  He didn’t even tag the Sharks; now they’re just doing this on purpose.

**_@SanJoseSharks_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** ** _ @LVAces_** _ahem_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _you’re one to talk about that…how many times did the **@NHLFalconers** beat us this year? #AFairQuestion_

**_ @kvparson87_** _:_ **_ @SanJoseSharks _ ** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@LVAces** _ _okay now you’re just fucking with him for retweets #NotCool_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@SanJoseSharks_** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs**_ **_@LVAces_** _besides if we’re going to play that game, how many times did *you* beat us? #AnotherFairQuestion #4and0_

**_ @LVAces_** _:_ **_ @kvparson87 _ ** **_ @SanJoseSharks_ ** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs**_ _and none of those games were close. 3-0, 3-1, 4-2, 5-1…_

**_ @SanJoseSharks_** _:_ **_ @kvparson87 _ ** **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_ ** _**@LVAces** _ _…gtg…_

**_ @kvparson87_** _:_ **_ @SanJoseSharks _ ** **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_ ** _**@LVAces** _ _yeah, that’s right :)_

**_ @LVAces_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87 _ ** **_ @SanJoseSharks_ ** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs**_ _don’t tweet at us unless you’re ready to be smacked down :)_

After Kent is done dragging the Sharks twitter to hell and back, he sees another tweet from Tater, and when he reads it, he smiles, his chest feeling warm.

 

 ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _is best <3 ))))))))_

  * _Retweeted by_ ** _@kvparson87_**



* * *

 

Banged up, bruised, and exhausted, the Aces still manage to cruise to a 4-1 series win and reach the Stanley Cup Finals.  The list of team accomplishments are piling up: the franchise’s first playoff berth, the Presidents’ Trophy, first playoff win, first playoff series win, first Stanley Cup final appearance.  This, all in one season.  But Kent’s not satisfied with just that.  He wants to lift the Cup, to be champion, and he knows that everyone else on his team wants that too.

 

Their Finals matchup is with the New Jersey Devils, a team that by most accounts isn’t nearly as talented as the Aces, but despite that, the Devils beat them in their two regular season meetings, but according to Tater, that doesn’t matter (and of course, Kent agrees).

 

 ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@LVAces_** _may have lost games against devils in regular season but regular season do not matter here_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@LVAces_** _will win finals because they are best team with best player_ ** _@kvparson87_** _))))_

**_ @NJDevils_** _:_ **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs _ ** _**@LVAces** **@kvparson87 **_ _one good player does not a #StanleyCupChampion team make…_

**_ @kvparson87_** _:_ **_ @NJDevils _ ** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@LVAces** _ _good thing that we have 19 other great players then :)_

**_ @LVAces_** _:_ **_ @kvparson87 _ ** **_ @NJDevils_ ** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs** _ _yep! You don’t win 52 games without a quality roster top to bottom #BestTeamInTheLeague_

**_ @NJDevils_** _:_ **_ @kvparson87 _ ** **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_ ** _**@LVAces** _ _guess we’ll all find out…see you on the ice May 20 th_

**_ @kvparson87_** _:_ **_ @NJDevils _ ** _**@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@LVAces** _ _I look forward to seeing you out there #BeReady #BringYourAGame #StanleyCupFinals_

* * *

 

It’s a long, grueling Finals, but at the end, Kent stands on the ice and lifts the Cup.  It’s the culmination of everything he’s worked for since he was a kid.  He’s so happy that he doesn’t even stop to think about Jack or wish that he was there with him.  This is his moment, his team’s moment.  Maybe later he’ll think about him, but not now.

 

The first thing Kent does when the celebration dies down is to check his twitter for a tweet from Tater, and he’s not disappointed.

 

 **_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _: woo!!! **@LVAces** win stanley cup!!! **@kvparson87 ** I say from beginning you could do it!!! ))))))_

**_ @kvparson87_** _: **@tater_mashkov_falcs** Thanks!  I’m so proud of all my **@LVAces** teammates!  This wouldn’t have been possible without them :)_

**_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _: **@kvparson87** **@LVAces** you do much work yourself too! you win conn smythe trophy!_

**_ @kvparson87_** _: **@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@LVAces** they still did most of the work. It takes a team to win a championship #BestTeammatesEver_

**_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _: **@kvparson87** **@LVAces** are good team. **@NHLFalconers** will be good team soon. we win championship soon too!_

**_ @kvparson87_** _: **@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@LVAces** **@NHLFalconers** not without a fight you won’t!!! #DefendingChamps #BringIt_

**_ @tater_mashkov_falcs_** _: **@kvparson87** **@LVAces** **@NHLFalconers** like I already say: we be ready for challenge #bringitalso_

**_ @LVAces_** _: **@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@kvparson87** **@NHLFalconers** omg our necks are hurting a little from that whiplash #FanToEnemy just like that_

**_ @kvparson87_** _: **@LVAces** **@tater_mashkov_falcs** **@NHLFalconers** that’s how this league works lol! _

**_ @kvparson87_** _: **@tater_mashkov_falcs** but anyway I hope we see you next May. In the meantime, thanks for all your support over the playoffs #BestTwitterCheeringSection_

**_ @tater_mashkov_falcs: _ ** _**@kvparson87** you are welcome! ))))))) #anytime_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I understand that Kent's tweeting language is more like it's 2016 rather than 2012, but I don't even remember what the internet was like in 2012, so this will have to do lol...also, I didn't check the character count of any of the tweets, so I might have gone over on a few...oh well lmao


	5. December 14th and 15th, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the angst train returns with the aftermath of Epikegster 2014...I swear to God I don't like showing Kent hurting like this, but I also can't deny what he's been through omfg...I'm sorry about all the sadness

**_ @kvparson87_** _: why did I just do that?_

**_ @kvparson87_** _: I knew it wasn’t a good idea_

**_ @kvparson87_** _: sometimes I wish I wasn’t so stupid :\\\\\\\_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _how can you say that? you very smart! tater has seen himself!_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _thanks but I’m really not smart at all_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _something is wrong. talk to tater about it?_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _I just…I went somewhere I shouldn’t have_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _you go where? is you okay?_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _I’d rather not talk about it but…I’ll be fine…maybe. Eventually? Honestly I don’t really know #HeartBroken_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _you need to let it out. we talk after game tomorrow. is not choice, i will find_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _I don’t know that I really *can* talk about any of it_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _okay, i will be shoulder for crying then_

**_@kvparson87_** _:_ ** _@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _I guess. You’re a good friend Tater <3_

**_@tater_mashkov_falcs_** _:_ ** _@kvparson87_** _you are as well <3 i will see tomorrow_

* * *

 

Kent doesn’t sleep much that night.  He’s glad that as the captain, he gets his own hotel room on the road.  That way, he can cry without anyone hearing him or being there to ask him what’s wrong.  A few people knock on his door, no doubt because they saw his tweets, but he’s not going to talk to any of them.

 

It hurts more than Kent ever imagined it could, and it’s not even a pain he can describe, other than it’s all-consuming and overwhelming.  The state of ambiguity he’s lived in for the last five years is gone.  There’s no longer a _maybe_ or a _someday_.  Jack’s eyes were icy, his expression steely as he told Kent to get out.  There’s no room for interpretation.  _It’s over._

 

Kent never anticipated them being over for good.  Every time he looked into the future, no matter what the last five years had thrown at him, he saw blue eyes and a shy smile.  Jack.  He always thought Jack would be a constant in his life, and now that Kent knows he’s not going to be, he feels like he’s been run over by a freight train.

 

And then there’s the guilt.

 

“I miss you,” Kent had said.

 

Jack’s face was already hardening when he replied.  “You always say that.”

 

Jack didn’t say it back.  Jack had ripped him open, left him exposed.  Jack didn’t miss him; Jack didn’t want to see him.  Kent felt raw, like an open wound, while Jack stood tall, his voice unwavering.  As Kent bled, he could only think of one thing: he had to make Jack hurt the same way.

 

He attacked Jack with everything he had learned over the years, all the insecurities he knew Jack had.  And now Kent feels sick to his stomach.  As the words left his mouth, he saw the way Jack flinched, the way his shoulders started shake, the way his eyes widened from feelings of betrayal.  For a few sickening moments, Kent felt satisfied with his words, too caught up in the emotion and adrenaline of the moment to realize what he said.  It was only as he way driving away that it hit him, and he had to pull over.

 

_Worthless.  Fucked up._

 

If there had been any hope for them, it died the second Kent threw those daggers at Jack.

 

So he doesn’t sleep.  How can he, when he knows that in his nightmares, he’ll hear himself say those words over and over again?

* * *

 

It shows in the game.  Kent is sluggish, always a step behind the rest of his teammates.  And it’s costly.  A game they should’ve won easily turned into a 4-3 defeat.  Kent is done.  He’s physically tired and emotionally drained.  He wants nothing more to board the bus so they can head off to the airport.  He’s anxious to get back to Vegas.  To cuddle with Kit, have a few drinks and cry a little bit more.  Maybe after that, he can figure out how the fuck he’s supposed to move on.

 

His steps are slow and heavy as he exits the visitor’s locker room, trudging down the hallway toward the parking lot and the bus.  Lost in his own thoughts, Kent nearly falls flat on his face, tripping when someone places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Kent.  Where you going?”

 

_Tater_.

 

Kent sighs and squeezes his eyes shut.  Even though he was in a haze most of last night, Kent remembers Tater insisting that they talk after the game.  He remembered, and he had been hoping that he could slip out before Tater found him.

 

Kent swallows thickly and stutters out a lie.  “O-oh, I—I wasn’t going a-anywhere.”  He doesn’t want to do this.  Maybe he doesn’t have to talk, but he doesn’t want to cry on Tater’s shoulder either.  He still feels guilty for dumping his emotional baggage on him at the draft five years ago.

 

Tater raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t buy Kent’s lie at all, and for a moment, Kent thinks he might get out of this, but then Tater nods his head in the opposite direction Kent was going.  “Come.  I have place we can talk private.”

 

Tater’s hand slides down to Kent’s bicep, and his grip is gentle but firm as he pulls Kent deep into the arena, to an area that Kent hasn’t ever been.  Tater stops in front of a storage closet, twisting the knob and swinging the door open.

 

“Really?” Kent questions, peering into the room.  It’s big, for a storage closet, but it’s not exactly where Kent saw any kind of comforting/conversation taking place.

 

Tater shrugs.  “Is best I could do on little notice.”

 

“O-okay,” Kent says, stepping into the dimly lit area.

 

The door shuts with a soft click and when Kent turns around, Tater is standing directly in front of him, reaching out to put his hands on Kent’s shoulders.

 

“What happen last night?” Tater asks, his eyes filled with such concern that Kent wishes he was looking anywhere else but at him.  “You not seem okay.”

 

_Fucked up.  Not good enough.  Worthless._

 

The words echo in Kent’s mind and he flinches, wrenching away from Tater’s grip.

 

Kent presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, turning his back toward Tater.  “It’s—you don’t want to know, okay?” he says.

 

“Kent—”

 

“Alexei.  Please don’t,” Kent pleads.  He can’t—he doesn’t want Tater to know what he did and what he said.  Tater is understanding, but there has to be a limit.  He’d hate him if he said anything and Tater is the closest thing Kent has to a friend right now.

 

Tater gently pries Kent’s hands away from his eyes.  Kent looks up at him, eyes watering (dammit, he’s going to cry in front of Tater again).  “I am worry,” Tater says softly.  “Last time you be like this, it was at draft.”

 

“I’m—I’m going to be fine,” Kent says, choking on the words because he doesn’t really know if he means them.

 

“I don’t believe,” Tater replies, his thumb gently rubbing along Kent’s collarbone.

 

It bursts out of him.  When he sees the worry in Tater’s eyes, he can’t hold it in.

 

“He doesn’t want me anymore,” Kent blurts out.  Kent hopes he doesn’t have to say much more, because if he did, there’s no way Tater could even pretend to be friendly with him in the future, but there’s something about the man that makes Kent want to spill every detail of the last five years.

 

Tater frowns, clearly confused.  “Who?”

 

Kent bites his lip and looks down at his feet.  “Um…Jack.  He doesn’t lo—” Kent mumbles, stopping with a start when he realizes he’s about to tell Tater too much.  “I mean—he d-doesn’t want to play with me anymore.”

 

Tater doesn’t seem to notice his misstep (or is courteously ignoring it) and replies quickly without missing a beat.  “You not need Jack to play.  You win Cup without him.”

 

“I—I know that but—” Kent pauses to sniffle and rub his eyes.  “I miss him, okay?”

 

“Then why not tell him?” Tater asks.

 

“You don’t understand,” Kent answers.  “It’s—we were—I was—”

 

Kent grinds to a halt.  He could tell Tater, except a) he doesn’t know how accepting Tater is and b) he can’t tell Tater anything without exposing Jack to a potential teammate and violating his trust again.  He won’t do anything that might hurt Jack again.

 

Kent sighs.  “Look, I told him I missed him, and it just—it didn’t go well at all, okay?”

 

“How you say it?” Tater asks.

 

Kent thinks about it; pushing Jack up against the door—kissing him and Jack kissing back for a second before shoving Kent off.  He said _I miss you_ the only way he knew how, but he can’t tell Tater that’s what he did.

 

Kent shakes his head.  “I can’t—telling you would—it’s not right.  I can’t tell you.”

 

Tater frowns, but nods his head.  “I understand.”

 

“I’m just—” Kent starts, closing his eyes.  “The dream of us playing together again is—it’s over.  I didn’t think that would ever become a reality.”

 

“There is still chance—”

 

Kent exhales.  He’s going to have to tell Tater about the horrible things he said.  He was probably going to find out eventually, so he might as well.  Better for Tater to stop being his friend now, rather than further down the road.  “There definitely isn’t any chance at all.  You didn’t hear the things I said to him when he rejected me—I mean, when he rejected the idea of playing with me again.  I—I fired every bit of ammunition I had at him.”

 

Tater puts a hand on Kent’s shoulder.  “You cannot know—”

 

“But I do,” Kent interrupts.  It doesn’t matter how Tater was going to finish that sentence—he knows.  “I called his team shitty.  I called him fucked up.  Not good enough.  Worthless,” Kent continues, picturing Jack’s horrified face at Kent’s utter betrayal.  It’s something Kent doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget.

 

Kent sees horror flicker across Tater’s eyes, and he immediately shuts his own.  He doesn’t want to see the disgusted look Tater’s going to give him.

 

“Why you say such things?” Tater questions and his voice is upset but—calmer than Kent expected it to be.

 

“I—I was hurt.  You can’t understand how much he hurt me and I just—I’ve never done anything like this to anyone before but—this was—it was hard.  I so badly wanted him to hurt the same way, I was hurting,” Kent explains, feeling the bile rise in his throat at his own actions.

 

“You not need to hurt him,” Tater replies sadly.

 

Kent lets a hiccup of a cry escape his lips.  “Of—of course I didn’t.  But I d-did because I’m a t-terrible person,” Kent says, tears falling from his eyelashes as he’s on the verge of grossly sobbing.

 

There’s a pause where Tater doesn’t withdraw or say a word, but suddenly and surprisingly Tater’s arm snakes around his shoulders, and Kent, without thinking, turns his head into Tater’s shoulder.  “I’m so sorry,” Kent cries.

 

“Is not me you must apologize to,” Tater responds softly.  “So you make bad mistake.  You only bad person if you refuse to apologize.”

 

“I—I want to but—I don’t know how,” Kent says.  “I can’t call him, he doesn’t have like a Twitter or something, and I’m not showing up on his doorstep again.  It’s—it’s over.  I don’t have any way to contact him.”

 

“You must try,” Tater answers.  “Consider other ways.”

 

“I—I guess,” Kent says, though he doesn’t know what other ways there are.  He pulls away from Tater, wiping at his cheeks with the sleeves of his dress shirt.  “I—we have to stop doing this,” he says, chuckling wetly.

 

Tater shrugs.  “I have no problem.”

 

“It’s—it just seems like every time you see me, I’ve having some kind of emotional crisis,” Kent continues.  “It must get tiring.”

 

Tater shakes his head.  “You need person to talk with.  I am good listener.  And I want to help.”

 

“I can’t imagine why,” Kent mutters.

 

Tater grabs his chin, lifting his head so Kent is looking into his eyes.  “You make mistakes.  You have hard time.  But you are good person.  Tater happy to be here for you.”

 

Kent blushes, trying to ignore the buzzing under his skin.  “W-well.  Thanks,” Kent says, lowering his eyes the second Tater releases his head.

 

“You are welcome.  Now you must go grab bus,” Tater says, nudging Kent toward the door.

 

Kent laughs.  “I think you mean ‘catch’ the bus.”

 

Tater grins.  “Oh yes.  That is what I mean.”  Tater walks with Kent until they’re back outside the visitor’s locker room.  “I go this way,” he says when they get there, pointing back over his shoulder.

 

Without thought, Kent reaches up and pulls Tater down into a hug.  “Thanks,” he says again.

 

“Anytime,” Tater answers, squeezing Kent’s arm before he turns and starts walking away.

 

“I’ll see you on Twitter soon!” Kent calls after him.

 

Tater turns around, beaming at Kent.  “Yes!  I see you there soon!”

 

Kent waits until Tater is out of sight to head toward the bus.  It takes most of the night for the buzzing to finally calm.


	6. November 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally starting to reach the end of extremely sad Kent moments to moments that are less sad (but not necessarily happy yet? You'll have to wait until chapter 8 to see what I mean by that lol). But anyway, this fic is beginning it's final ascent...things are looking up so :)))) Hope y'all enjoy!

_“You only bad person if you refuse to apologize.”_

 

Kent hasn’t tried to apologize to Jack yet.  It’s not that he’s refusing to or anything; it’s just that, well—Kent has a talent for avoiding his problems.  So he doesn’t do anything, even though he knows that the longer he lets this fester, the harder it will be to have that conversation with Jack.

 

Then Jack signs with the Falconers, and Kent knows there’s only so much longer he can put it off.  Any other team and he could avoid Jack off the ice indefinitely, but he’s on the same team as Tater.  When they play each other, Tater will be there too.  Tater, who knows exactly what Kent has done, and is too good a friend to let him run away from it.  Come hell or high water, Kent will have to apologize the first time they play against each other.

 

He could act preemptively.  He could call Jack’s dad and beg him for Jack’s number, or he could—actually, that’s about his only option, but still, he could still try that, instead of sitting around, waiting—no, _dreading_ that first game.

 

That’s what he’s doing—sitting on the bed in his hotel room, trying to distract himself from the sinking feeling in his stomach—the night before the game, when his phone buzzes.

 

**_Twitter_ **

_Direct message from Alexei Mashkov!_

 

Kent frowns.  Tater has never DM’d him before—they’ve only ever talked through tweets.  Kent shifts uncomfortably as he swipes his phone open.  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Tater is DMing him instead of tweeting him.

 

***Twitter Direct Messages with Alexei Mashkov***

_**Alexei:** hey_

 

Kent isn’t sure that he wants to have this conversation right now, but if he doesn’t, it’ll only make tomorrow that much more awkward.

 

_**Kent:** Hi_

_**Kent:** What’s up?_

 

Kent knows he’s deflecting; he knows why Tater messaged him and he knows that Tater knows that he knows.  But he’ll fight to put off the inevitable as long as he can.

 

_**Alexei:** we play tomorrow_

_**Alexei:** i am check in_

_**Kent:** Oh_

_**Kent:** Well…I’m fine…hbu?_

_**Alexei:** i am good_

_**Alexei:** talk to jack yet_

 

Kent sighs; Tater doesn’t have any interest in letting him beat around the bush.

 

_**Kent:** Uh…………_

__

_**Alexei:** i take that to be no_

_**Alexei:** why_

_**Kent:** How am I supposed to talk to him?_

__

_**Alexei:** i say you must find way_

_**Kent:** What other way is there?_

_**Kent:** I can’t call or text him_

_**Kent:** I know he sends my emails to spam_  
_**Kent:** I won’t show up on his doorstep again_

_**Kent:** So what does that leave me?_

_**Kent:** Groveling to his dad?_

_**Kent:** Bad Bob won’t listen to me_

_**Kent:** He never has_

_**Kent:** He has to take care of Jack first_

_**Kent:** And before you suggest it, tomorrow after the game is a bad idea cause Jack is always super ornery after games_

_**Alexei:** excuses_

_**Alexei:** sound to me that you avoid_

_**Kent:** Damn right I’m avoiding it!_

_**Kent:** You didn’t see the way he looked at me…_

_**Kent:** I don’t know that I can look him in the eye ever again_

_**Alexei:** so you not want to apologize_

 

It’s just letters on his phone screen, but Kent can hear the accusatory tone to Tater’s words—and the warning.  And he’ll admit that on some level, in some little piece of himself, Kent would rather not face Jack, but the bigger piece of himself is too guilty to go forever without apologizing.

 

_**Kent:** I do! Trust me I really do!_

_**Alexei:** then why you not do anything_

_**Kent:** I’m scared okay?_

_**Kent:** I don’t know what to say and I’m scared_

_**Alexei:** is important to face fears_

_**Alexei:** and you say you miss jack_

_**Alexei:** how you stop missing if you not apologize_

_**Alexei:** he will not be friend without_

_**Kent:** I know…I just wish this wasn’t so hard_

_**Alexei:** is necessary to do hard things_

_**Alexei:** but i will make easier_

_**Alexei:** i keep jack after game and you come talk_

_**Kent:** Are you sure this is a good idea?_

_**Alexei:** is only option_

_**Kent:** Yeah, I know…_

_**Alexei:** well i must get sleep_

_**Alexei:** must be ready for game_

_**Alexei:** you need sleep too_

_**Kent:** I guess so_

_**Alexei:** i will see tomorrow_

_**Alexei:** please do not try to get out_

_**Kent:** I promise I’ll meet you after the game_

_**Alexei:** good_

_**Alexei:** see you then_

* * *

 

Kent reluctantly shuffles toward the Falconers locker room.  He’s walked this path several times before—to see Tater of course—which meant there was something to look forward to at the end of that walk.  But Kent wouldn’t call facing a man who almost definitely hates him something to look forward to.  In fact he dreads it, more than he’s ever dreaded something in his life before.

 

Kent half-considered stepping onto the team bus without ever taking a step toward the Falcs locker room; to leave and just deal with this at some later time.  But he promised Tater he’d come by after the game, and the idea of letting him down makes Kent feel sick.  Tater’s the best—and probably only friend he has, and he can’t lose him.  And, for as nervous as he is, he does actually want to apologize to Jack—he’s just terrified of how Jack might respond.

 

Kent turns the corner and approaches the entrance to the Falcs locker room.  Next to the door, Jack and Tater stand.  Tater is talking to him animatedly, but Jack very clearly doesn’t want to be there.  His shoulders are tense, up near his ears, and his eyes anxiously flit around.  If Kent still knows Jack as well as he thinks he does, Jack is looking for an escape route.  Tater must have cornered Jack to keep him here, and that just adds to Kent’s guilt.

 

Kent inhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.  Straightening his back, Kent casually saunters over to the two men.  “Sup—um.  I mean.  Hi.  Tater.  And—Jack,” he says, voice jumping an octave as it cracks.  The air buzzes with tension and immensely uncomfortable awkwardness.  Usually Kent is good a presenting a put-together front and appearing comfortable, but some situations are just too much.

 

Jack mumbles something unintelligible in reply, resolutely looking at his feet rather than at Kent.

 

“Kent!” Tater says with his usual exuberant, friendly enthusiasm, pulling Kent into a hug in response to his greeting.  “Is very good to see you!”

 

Kent presses his face into Tater’s shoulder for a brief second.  “It’s good to see you too,” he murmurs.

 

They break apart and Tater smiles at him.  “You play great game!  But we finally give you challenge!  And Zimmboni is to thank!”

 

Kent raises an eyebrow.  “Zimmboni?  Like a Zamboni?” he asks, looking over at Jack questioningly.

 

“Tater’s idea,” Jack mutters, shaking his head, and Kent hazards a look over at him.  There’s a hint of a grin appearing at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Back in Juniors, we always just called him Zimms,” Kent says and the grin disappears as quickly as it had appeared.  “But uh—Zimmboni.  That’s uh—that’s pretty creative man.  I like it,” he adds, locking his eyes back on Tater.

 

“Thanks!” Tater says.  “I like to give nicknames!  Makes young guys feel more part of team.”

 

“I’m the same age as you,” Jack replies, knocking into Tater’s shoulder.

 

“You just join league!  You are young guy to Tater!”

 

Jack frowns.  “Okay.  If you say so.”

 

“I do say so!” Tater answers, and Jack huffs a laugh in response.

 

An uncomfortable silence falls over them as Tater looks at Kent expectantly, trying to bring the conversation back to its original purpose.  Kent struggles for words; he knows what he’s here to do, but he’s having a hard time bringing himself to do it.

 

“So.  I—uh.  I think I’m going to—” Jack says quietly, beginning to slowly inch away from them.

 

“Yeah, you gotta go make sure you get your eight hours or whatever, you old man,” Kent replies teasingly, and Jack shoots him a dirty look.  They’re probably not in any kind of place where chirping like that is acceptable but it just slipped out.

 

Kent averts his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets.  He should’ve known better than to try and do this.  He needed more time to psych himself up, which is why he’s going to let Jack—

 

Tater’s hand rests on his shoulder and squeezes gently.  Kent looks up at his face, sees thin pursed lips and narrowed eyes, and he swallows thickly.  Shit.  He _has_ to do this.

 

Kent shuts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck anxiously.  “Um.  Jack.  Wait a second.  Please,” he says.  His voice is unsteady and sounds desperate and Kent hates it.

 

After a few seconds, Kent opens his eyes.  Jack is facing him a few feet away, examining Kent warily.  They make eye contact, and for a long second, Kent is struck dumb, unsure of what to say next.  It’s three words; it should be easy, but then again, Jack has always had a way of making things more difficult for Kent.

 

Tater subtly jostles him, and it’s enough to break Kent out of his trance.  Immediately, words start tumbling out of his mouth, disjointed and largely nonsensical, but enough to keep Jack from walking away.

 

“I just—well um—I’ve been wanting to—what I’m trying to say is—uh—” Kent stutters.  Jack’s brow furrows in confusion and Kent stops.  Three words.  Just spit it out!

 

“I’m sorry,” Kent finally manages to say.  “I said um—what I did was pretty messed up and I—yeah, I’m sorry.”

 

Jack stares Kent down, jaw set.  “You’re right, it was messed up,” he answers softly, “so sorry isn’t good enough.”

 

Kent bites down on his lip hard enough that he tastes copper.  He doesn’t mean to, but the pain is a welcome distraction; it keeps him from bursting into tears right there.  “I—yeah, I know it’s not but I—I wanted you to know that I—well, I regret every word but—yeah, I know sorry isn’t enough.”

 

“Good,” Jack says.  “Bye Kent, Tater.”

 

With that, Jack turns on his heel and walks off.

 

Tater removes his hand from Kent’s shoulder to pat him on the back.  “You say very bad things but—”

 

“Oh thanks for telling me.  It’d not like I didn’t already know that,” Kent snaps.  He has no reason to be angry at Tater, but he needs to channel some other emotion so he doesn’t start crying.

 

Tater though, seems unaffected by Kent’s sharp outburst, and continues on.  “—you do what you can.  You say sorry.  Is all you can do.”

 

“But I need him to know how much I mean it,” Kent sighs, slumping up against the wall.

 

“Jack will be needing time,” Tater says, putting an arm around his shoulders.  “Is unreasonable to expect all be good right away.”

  
“I know but—” Kent exhales, resting his head against Tater’s shoulder.  “I hate feeling guilty for it.  I want him to forgive me so I don’t have to anymore.”

 

“Was something you must think of before you say those things,” Tater says, shaking his head.  “He not have to forgive.”

 

“I know that,” Kent says.  “But that doesn’t stop me from wanting him to.”

 

“Like I say, he need time,” Tater answers.  “But you apologize and Tater is proud.  You were afraid but you do it anyway.”

 

“Maybe next time I won’t be a giant asshole so I don’t have to apologize to begin with,” Kent says.

 

“I am confident you will learn from experience,” Tater says, beaming down at Kent.  “You are smartest person I know and you always have good intention.

 

“You’re—you’re really an incredible friend to me,” Kent says, looking up at Tater in disbelief, his chest tight and filled with warmth.  “I don’t—I’m not sure what I did you get you as a friend but—you know.  Thanks.”

 

“Is my pleasure,” Tater says, hugging Kent tightly.  “Bus will be leaving soon.  You must go.”

 

“Okay,” Kent replies.  “I’ll see you in Vegas.”

 

“Maybe I see you before then.”  Tater shrugs.  “Who knows?”

 

“Yeah, who knows,” Kent says, reluctantly stepping away from Tater.

 

As he walks away, Kent finds himself really hoping he’ll see Tater before their game in Vegas.


	7. March 22-24, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter written...I'm literally the worst omfg. And honestly, I can't guarantee that it'll be any better with the next chapter, since I'm in school and taking 20 credit hours. I'm going to squeeze as much writing as I can in the next couple weeks, but I can't guarantee anything.
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. We're finally starting to build to the good stuff :)

The months roll on; the ebb and flow of the hockey season consumes Kent’s time and focus. But still, the situation with Jack continues to nag at Kent. He’s restless. Tater said Jack would need time, but it’s been almost four and a half months and he’s gotten nothing from Jack. Not a text, not a phone call, not even a mention in an interview.

 

Kent knows that time might not be the only thing Jack— _they_ need. Even with his apology, there’s so much that’s still left unspoken. Kent spent six years waiting and hoping, and Jack spent six years ignoring and resenting. Six years of silence and assumptions. They each have their own views of those years, and it’s going to take more than time to reconcile their two experiences. They _have_ to talk.

 

 _“He_ _not have to forgive,_ _”_ Tater had also said. Kent knows that he’s right; no matter how much Kent wants, and maybe even needs Jack to forgive him, he doesn’t have to. But Kent doesn’t want to concede that, not just yet. Not until they give talking a shot first.

 

In three days, the Falconers are playing the Aces in Las Vegas. The Falconers will be flying in tomorrow afternoon. If Kent can somehow get a hold of Jack in that time, invite him over to his apartment—maybe they can finally say all the things they’ve wanted to for years.

 

But Kent can’t contact Jack. All the traditional channels are still closed off; apologizing to Jack ended up not changing that. Unless Jack contacts him first, Kent has no way to talk to him. Unless…

 

Kent quickly fishes his phone out of his pocket, tapping on Twitter and typing out a message at a frantic pace (lest he convinces himself that this is a terrible idea).

 

 ***Direct Messages with Alexei Mashkov** *

 **_Kent:_ ** _Can I ask you a favor?_

**_Alexei:_ ** _sure )_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _what you need?_

 

Kent takes a deep breath. Once he asks this, it’s out there; he can’t take it back. Tater is Jack’s teammate, and Jack could see Tater doing this as a violation of his trust. Trust is key for any team, and Kent certainly doesn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize their relationship as teammates. But it is at Tater’s discretion whether to actually relay anything to Jack. If Tater sees it as too big a risk, he won’t do it. Kent can actually ask Tater without putting anything at risk, right?

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _How would you feel about talking to Jack for me?_

 

Kent holds his breath, waiting for Tater’s reply. Three minutes…five minutes…seven minutes. Perhaps even just asking was crossing a line. Ten minutes…

 

 **_Alexei:_ ** _why?_

 

Kent lets out the breath he was holding by way of loud groan. Twelve minutes of waiting, just for Tater to ask why. It almost feels like getting “k” in response to a long, thought-out message. Despite his frustration, Kent fires back his reply at lightning speed.

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _I know you said he needed time but it's_ _been almost four and a half months and I think that maybe we need more than time._

 **_Kent:_ ** _I think it would help a lot if we had a chance to clear the air_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So I was thinking I would invite him over when you guys come out here._

 

Tater’s reply comes a lot quicker this time.

 

 **_Alexei:_ ** _im not sure is good idea_

 

Kent knows he really should let that be the end of it. Tater’s uncomfortable with the idea, and that should be reason enough to drop it. But Kent is desperate.

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _Alexei please_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I don_ _’t_ _know how Jack and I are ever going to work this out if we don't_ _talk_

**_Alexei:_ ** _what if jack not ready?_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _what if he not want to work out?_

**_Kent:_ ** _I know that he might not want to_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Trust me, the thought crosses my mind every time I think about this_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But I just feel like I have to try, even if Jack has decided he doesn_ _’t_ _want to work things out_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I guess I just want to know_

**_Alexei:_ ** _im not sure i want to do_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _you are good friend_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _but jack is teammate and first duty is to him_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _is this because you still in love with jack?_

 

Kent nearly chokes on his own spit. Why would Tater—how could he—how did he think to ask that question? He’s been very careful to say nothing to suggest to Tater the nature of his relationship with Jack.

 

But then again, it’s generally not normal for someone to continually get emotional the way Kent has about someone who was just a friend. And he did nearly slip up a few times when he talked to Tater after that party/kegster/thing. Tater probably guessed from the clues that Kent unintentionally gave him.

 

Still, straight up admitting that he and Jack were…boyfriends? Lovers? Together? Just fucking? Kent really doesn’t know because that’s something they never did actually talk about. But, admitting that on the hunch that Tater already knows is too much of a risk. He could be talking about like—platonic love or something like that.

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _What makes you think love has anything to do with this?_

**_Alexei:_ ** _after you apologize jack tell me few things_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _not much specific_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _i mostly guess from what you say and what he say_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _unless i am wrong?_

 

Kent swallows. That’s still not enough for Kent to feel comfortable telling the truth. He needs to know exactly what Jack said, so he doesn’t accidentally tell Tater more than Jack wants him to know.

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _What exactly did he say about us?_

**_Alexei:_ ** _he say he not remember much because drugs_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _but he say that you be_ _“more_ _than friend_ _”_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _he not say anything else_

 

That’s good enough.

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _Yeah, he_ _’s_ _right_

 **_Kent:_ ** _We were more than friends_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I wish I could tell you exactly what we were but even now I still don_ _’t_ _know_

 **_Kent:_ ** _We_ _—I_ _always kind of avoided talking about it and Jack was happy to follow my lead_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But I knew I was in love, but I was too scared to say it_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I always thought it was something that could wait until after the draft, when we knew where we were going_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Like then I would know if we had a chance, and then it would be much easier_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I never realized that Jack was struggling so badly_

 **_Kent:_ ** _His OD blind-sided me just like everyone else_

 _ **Kent:** And even when he stopped talking to me, that didn_ _’_ _t change how much I loved him_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I tried so hard to reach out to him for so long_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It wasn_ _’t_ _until after that night at the party that I realized that he didn_ _’t_ _feel the same way_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It hurt a lot and I made a big mistake because of it_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But in a way it was a good thing for me because I finally knew I had to move on_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I can_ _’t_ _say that I don_ _’t_ _love him anymore, but it_ _’s_ _not that kind of love_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Before we became whatever we were, he was like the brother I never had_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And I still see him as my brother and I just want to be able to talk to him again_

 

When Kent finishes typing, he closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. He’s never told anyone the whole story. He’s never had anyone he could tell the whole story to. And maybe it doesn’t sting the way it used to, it’s still hard for Kent to think about. But in a way he feels lighter. He’s finally not holding the whole thing inside, keeping it to himself.

 

When Kent finally feels calmer and reopens his eyes, Tater has responded.

 

 **_Alexei:_ ** _wow_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _i not realize how hard all was for you_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _draft party apology_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _it all make sense_

_**Kent:** There were so many times I wanted to tell you but I couldn_ _’t_

_**Kent:** Not without betraying Jack_ _’s_ _trust_

**_Alexei:_ ** _i understand_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _jack tell me he can not say all for same reason_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _but now i know_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _i know you just want to make right_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _i will talk to jack_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _what you want me to say?_

**_Kent:_ ** _Would you please just ask him to unblock my number?_

**_Alexei:_ ** _of course_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _i will let you know what jack say_

**_Kent:_ ** _I can_ _’t_ _tell you how much I appreciate this Alexei_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Thank you so much <3_

**_Alexei:_ ** _no problem )))) <3_

* * *

 

When Kent arrives at the arena for the game against the Falconers two days later, he arrives feeling lighter than he has in—well, since before Jack’s overdose, so literally years. Kent hadn’t been sure whether asking Tater to talk to Jack would actually work, but it did; the next morning after his conversation with Tater, Jack had texted him. And though it took a while (and maybe a little begging on Kent’s part), Kent managed to convince Jack to come over to his apartment that night.

 

It was awkward at first. Jack sat at Kent’s kitchen table silently, rigidly, while Kent busied himself with preparing dinner. Kent didn’t know where to start, and it seemed that Jack didn’t know either. There was six plus years of things to talk about, a daunting task to say the least. But all through dinner, Jack made no attempt to get things started. So Kent had to take the plunge.

 

“Fine,” Kent sighed. “I’ll start. Before you overdosed—why didn’t you ever tell me what was going on? Because I—I would’ve tried to help if I had known. I mean, I was your best friend, Jack.”

 

Jack exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “Look Kent, it’s not that I didn’t want you know, I just…”

 

That was all it took to get things started. Once the words started coming out, they wouldn’t stop. Kent did a lot of crying and a little bit of yelling, and Jack, for his part, was quite calm, but Kent could see the emotion in his eyes.

 

It became clear very early on that neither of them really had considered the other’s perspective. They only ever saw things through their own lenses, not once thinking about how the other person was seeing things. The only reason things turned out the way they did was through a series of assumptions and misunderstandings.

 

Working through it all was hard work, emotionally exhausting. But by the end, they both had a much clearer picture of the last seven years. And when it was all over, when there was nothing left to be said, at close to 2:00 in the morning, Kent stood and extended his hand.

 

“So—friends?” he had asked.

 

Jack’s forehead had scrunched up as he thought about it carefully. Standing up, Jack had nodded slowly, taking Kent’s hand and shaking it. “It’s going to take some time—to get to know each other again and rebuilding trust but—yeah. Friends.”

 

Exchanging a brief (and awkward hug), Kent ushered Jack out of his apartment. Kent didn’t fall asleep until an hour or so later, tired but still feeling emotionally charged. Being that late threw his whole routine off, but Kent can’t find it within himself to mind.

 

When Kent walks into the locker room, most of the Aces players are already there, giving him strange looks because Kent is usually the first one to arrive. But he was tired, and slept through the alarm for his pre-game nap and woke up late. It’s a minor miracle that he was able to show up on time.

 

“Looks like Parser _finally_ decided to join us!” Mac hoots from across the room, breaking the silence. Kent flips him off and continues to his cubby.

 

Felix, whose cubby is next to his, raises an eyebrow at Kent as he drops his bag.

 

“In the time you’ve been with this team, I don’t think you’ve been the last one here one fucking time,” Felix says, frowning. “Are you okay?”

 

Kent sits down to catch his breath (he ran all the way here from his car). Now that he’s here, he can’t exactly dawdle, but he doesn’t have to rush to get ready for warm-ups.

 

Kent nods absently. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers. “I just accidentally slept through my pregame nap alarm.”

 

“Are you feeling okay?” Felix asks.

 

“What?”

 

“You sure you didn’t sleep through you’re alarm because you’re like, fucking sick or something?” Felix presses.

 

“Huh? Oh God no, I swear I’m fine,” Kent replies, confused and taken aback by Felix’s question because not once in his six seasons has he ever missed a game due to an illness, and that’s a streak Kent has no intention of breaking.

 

Felix squints, examining him carefully. “Okay—I mean, you’re not like fucking pale or anything. You look fine but you’re never this fucking late for pre-game.”

 

“I wasn’t late!” Kent protests.

 

“It was late for you,” Felix replies simply. “Are you sure everything’s fucking fine?”

 

Kent huffs in frustration. “Fine, I was ‘late’. And I swear everything is just hunky-dory. I was just up really late last night.”

 

One look at Felix’s face alerts Kent that he made a fatal mistake in revealing that information to his alternate captain.

 

“Up late, hmm?” Felix says with a smirk. “What were you doing up so fucking late that you were the last one here?”

 

“None of your fucking business, that’s what,” Kent retorts sharply, even though he’s grinning slightly as he does.

 

“None of my fucking business?” Felix chuckles. “You really think I’m going to buy that one?”

 

“You’re going to have to,” Kent says, bending over to open up his equipment bag.

 

Felix smacks him hard on the back, nearly causing Kent to fall off the bench. “We’ll see about that. I fully intend to find out what the fuck you were up to last night, whether you want me to know or not.”

 

“You can try,” Kent says, rolling his eyes. He knows what Felix _thinks_ he was up to, but of course he wasn’t. But it’s nice to be getting this kind of treatment from the team—and actually enjoying it.

* * *

 

Kent walks out of the locker room after the game, still feeling much of the bubbly happiness he felt earlier, though it is tinged with a bit of disappointment. They played a hard fought game, but a goal scored by the Falconers with 10.7 seconds left gave the Falconers the 3-2 win. Kent doesn’t get it. They’re the better team, what with three playoff appearances and a Stanley Cup since Kent joined the team. But somehow, in the fourteen games in Kent’s career that they’ve played against the Falconers, the Aces have only won four.

 

“Kent!”

 

Tater’s voice booms through the hallway, drawing Kent out of his frustrated pondering. He looks up and beams, too delighted at seeing Tater’s smiling face and too generally cheerful to stay even a little bit down for very long.

 

“Hi Tater!” Kent replies brightly, bounding over to where Tater is standing, heart leaping when Tater reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

 

“Is good to see you always!” Tater says when he releases Kent. “You are look very happy today. I not see you smile this big before.”

 

Kent ducks his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well, I guess I just have a lot to be happy about,” he says quietly.

 

“You do not know how pleased Tater is to hear this,” Tater replies.

 

Kent glances up at Tater’s face, impossibly soft, and the moment is starting to feel too heavy, so Kent deflects. “Well, I’m not as happy as I could be, considering what just happened out there,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know you guys do it. Every time we play, you give us fits.”

 

Tater’s expression shifts into a smirk, and Kent feels infinitely more comfortable. “Perhaps we are always just better team,” Tater says.

 

Kent rolls his eyes. “Sure, that seems likely. How about you try that argument again when you have playoff appearances and a Cup?”

 

“Don’t worry, we will soon enough, eh?”

 

Kent and Tater both turn to see Jack slowly wandering in their direction, a small, lopsided grin turning up a corner of his mouth.

 

It takes Kent a second to register what Jack said, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance, but when he does, he laughs. “Ha! That’s a good one Jack,” he says.

 

Tater nudges Kent’s shoulder, knocking Kent sideways a step. “You be laughing now, but you will see we be right soon.”

 

Kent snorts. “You’ve got to string together a couple of wins before you’re even a _threat_ to make the playoffs,” he points out, maybe a touch too smugly; the Aces have already clinched their spot (meanwhile, the Falconers are—well, at least they  _were_ 6 points back of the 8 th seed in the Eastern Conference, coming into tonight).

 

“We’re off to a good start, aren’t we?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I suppose so,” Kent grumbles, shaking his head. “I just don’t get how you did it! I mean, we were tied! The puck was on the other side of the ice! And then you just—and it was—I don’t even know.”

 

“Was all on Zimmbonni!” Tater says, slapping Jack on the shoulder before drawing him under his arm. “He was one to make happen!”

 

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Jack says. “It was a team effort.”

 

“Zimmbonni Zimmbonni Zimmbonni,” Tater says, patting Jack’s bicep with every iteration of his nickname. “Is not interview! You brag all you want here!”

 

“Yeah,” Kent agrees. “I mean, I was on the ice a lot and I couldn’t watch you a whole lot but from what I saw, you played great out there, man.”

 

Jack’s cheeks are slightly pink as he responds with a mumbled “thanks” before he clears his throat. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to brag,” he says, ducking out from under Tater’s arm. “The coaches wanted to see you after the game Tater, but you bolted.”

 

“I must say hi to Kent before he leave!” Tater responds, pulling Kent under the arm Jack had just vacated. Kent, meanwhile, ducks his head so Jack doesn’t see how brightly his cheeks are burning.

 

“Oh. Well I guess—they want to see you ASAP,” Jack says, shrugging slightly.

 

Tater nods. “Okay. Tell them I will be there in minute,” he says. “Want to talk to Kent alone for short time.”

 

Jack looks back and forth between them for a second, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh. I see,” he responds, taking a step back. “I will—uh, I’ll see you later. At the hotel.”

 

“Hey Jack?” Kent says before Jack can turn around and start walking away.

 

“Yeah?” Jack responds, cocking his head to the side slightly.

 

“I meant to say this after the first time we played but—it’s really good to see you out there again,” Kent says quietly.

 

“It’s good to be out there,” Jack says, smiling slightly.

 

“And uh—I’m glad we could—I mean—I’m glad we can do this,” Kent adds, vaguely gesturing between them.

 

“Yeah, me too,” Jack says. He walks over and punches Kent in the arm. “So hey. Text me some time, okay?”

 

“Yeah, you bet I will. I’ll text you so much you’ll get sick of me,” Kent says, punching Jack back.

 

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Fine, then I’ll just ignore you.”

 

“Like you’re really going to do that,” Kent shoots back.

 

“Don’t think I won’t,” Jack replies warningly. “Just—it won’t be for quite so long this time.”

 

Kent nods. “Okay, good. Now get your ass outta here Zimms. Didn’t Tater say he wanted to talk to me alone?”

 

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jack chuckles. “I’ll talk to y’all later.”

 

When Jack is gone, Kent comes out from under Tater’s arm, turning to him so they’re face to face, brow furrowed in confusion. “Since when does Jack use ‘y’all’?”

 

“Is all Bitty’s fault,” Tater says, shaking his head.

 

“Bitty?”

 

“Ask Zimmbonni later,” Tater replies dismissively. “So I see last night go well.”

 

Kent nods rapidly. “Yeah, it went great,” he answers. “I mean—it was hard, but it was what we needed to do, you know? We’re not like, immediate best friends, but we’re going to work on it, you know?”

 

“Yes, I’m know,” Tater says, stretching out and squeezing Kent’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

 

“It’s just—” Kent pauses. “It’s nice to not have anything left unsaid hanging over us anymore. And like, I’m really glad to have another friend besides you now.”

 

Tater’s smile falters for a split-second, and Kent feels his heart lurch, and he rushes to recover.

 

“But like, no matter how my new—old?—friendship with Jack develops, he’s not going to take your place. I mean, you’ve seen me at points that Jack didn’t—I was at my worst, my lowest, and you were there—” Kent hesitates for a moment. “And that makes what we have special. The stuff I would trust you with now—I wouldn’t have trusted Jack with, not even before.”

 

“That means much to me to hear,” Tater says, looking at Kent with an expression he’s never seen and that he can’t place. “I have many friends. But none will be important as Kent.”

 

Kent feels an overwhelming rush of affection, and he quickly steps forward and embraces Tater, burying his face into Tater’s shoulder. “Thanks,” Kent murmurs.

 

“You are much welcome,” Tater says. “Now coaches need to see. I must go, but we talk soon, yes?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Kent says, squeezing Tater before he lets him go.

 

“Okay, see you,” Tater says fondly, patting Kent on the shoulder before he walks off.

 

As Kent heads to his car, he knows he has a lot he should be thinking about; the way Kent’s heart lurched when Tater’s face betrayed that he thought he might be replaced by Jack, the look on Tater’s face when Kent said what they had was special and that he trust him, the way Kent’s chest felt impossibly tight when Tater said none of his friends was more important than him.

 

He has a lot he _should_ be thinking about, but instead, he’s going to ignore it all. It’s too much, the implication much too big for Kent to face right now. Instead he climbs in his car and turns up the radio, letting the bubble gum pop music drown out his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next chapter: a coming out party, feat. a surprise guest ;)


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